


Wumptober No 6. PLEASE….

by Aipilosse



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Silverfisting, Torture, but when it's sad we call it, even though that makes no sense, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse
Summary: The last time Celebrimbor pleads for Sauron to stop
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Wumptober No 6. PLEASE….

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wumptober, day 6. Overall prompt was Please... more specific prompt was "Stop, please."

Annatar appeared to be in a melancholy mood today. Days ago, maybe weeks ago, Celebrimbor took these moods as a good sign. He would try his hardest to reach beyond the shell of Sauron, the Dark Lord and remind him of beauty, light, and love. He’d plead with him that it was not too late, it was never too late, and that Celebrimbor of all people must believe that. He still believed in redemption in an abstract sense; it must always be possible or else how could anyone be persuaded to turn from ruinous paths they pursued? 

But for Annatar, it wasn’t a question of redemption any more; it was a question of what remained. Days ago, maybe weeks ago, Celebrimbor realized that nothing of the being he had once loved was left. Malice and rage had eaten the person he had known as Annatar away for a hundred years, and what remained he had twisted and bound into his Ring. ****

Now Annatar’s presence only brought dread, whatever mood he appeared to be in. Celebrimbor could already feel his heart speeding up in fear; if he had been any less dehydrated he would have been sweating. Before, he would have tried to keep his breathing even. Now, with every single rib in his chest broken in a careful symmetrical pattern, all he could focus on was the pain that his breath caused, as it sped up despite the stabs of agony.

Annatar walked straight up to the table Celebrimbor was nailed to. He smoothed the hair away from his face, peering at him closely like he was some new insect he’d never seen before.

“Brim, I don’t understand. We shared everything before. Why won’t you just tell me where they are?” 

They’ve had this conversation so many times Celebrimbor felt like it had ground a groove in his mind. He also knew the rest of the conversation would go the same way it always did with or without his participation. He said nothing.

Annatar sighed and leaned his head on his hand while tracing lines across Celebrimbor’s face with his other hand.

“I miss you. Why won’t you talk to me?”

 _Because you killed my friends and destroyed my city. Because you twisted everything beautiful we made together into ugly tools of dominance. Because I have been hurt more than I thought was possible. Because you’re gone, sacrificed for nothing but power._ There’s no point in saying any of it out loud again.

Annatar sighed. “Have I been too cruel? If I have, it’s only because you won’t see reason. You’re too stubborn for your own good.” He smiled at Celebrimbor fondly. Celebrimbor felt fear solidify like a core of ice within him.

“Maybe you just need to remember the good years, before you threw everything away.” Sauron leaned down and kissed Celebrimbor, ignoring the missing teeth and dryness. Celebrimbor went completely rigid, wracked with pain, but unable to stop the tension in his body. 

“No,” Celebrimbor croaked out when Annatar straightened.

Annatar ignored him. “Come here, silly.” He tried to tug Celebrimbor toward him, but was stymied by the metal stakes driven through his ankles and wrists, anchoring him to the table. Celebrimbor couldn’t stop the horrible croak that came from his throat from the pressure on his wounds.

Annatar frowned, as if puzzled by the obstruction. As if he had not driven the stakes in himself. His face cleared, and with a word and a small gesture of his left hand, the metal liquified into puddles of molten iron. Celebrimbor screamed. The burning pain was on him, in him, consuming him. 

When the shock of pain abated enough to allow his mind to think about anything else, he found that Annatar had partially pulled him off the table and was standing between his legs. He leaned over him, stroking his hair. 

“Hush, you’re being dramatic,” Annatar said. Celebrimbor tried to say something, but his throat would not cooperate after screaming.

Annatar began to caress him in a hatefully familiar way. Even if his touch was not meant to hurt, Celebrimbor was so covered in cuts, bruises, and burns that every motion sent agony through him. Finally his tongue started working enough to form words again.

“Stop, please.” 

Annatar, no Sauron, and taken everything from him, ripped away his home, his friends, his works (all but the Three), and now he would take his last untainted memory of love. It was worse than any knife wound.

Annatar ignored him, looking at his body with some bemusement. He tried to rouse Celebrimbor, but his fingers just caused more pain, rubbing over the burns on his genitals. Celebrimbor tried to lift his arm to try to push him away, but his muscles and tendons were too torn to obey him.

With a huff of frustration, Annatar stopped trying to arouse Celebrimbor, and instead slid two fingers inside him, at last looking him in the face.

“I don’t want this,” Celebrimbor managed to rasp out. 

“Don’t be foolish, you love this.” Annatar smiled angelically, his beautiful face lighting up. He pushed inside. 

Celebrimbor barely even felt it, all sensation eclipsed by the pain of his raw back shifting against the wood of the table, and the shattered bones in his knees jostled by Annatar’s grip. He could feel Annatar’s relentless pressure on his mind. He was trying to open their bond, and this more than any other torture drove Celebrimbor to despair. 

He redoubled his efforts at guarding his thoughts and memories, knowing that the stubborn force of his unwill would block anyone from accessing them, be they elf, Maia, Vala, friend, foe, or spouse. It didn’t stop the beautiful, awful, feeling of oneness. It was a mockery of the last time they had coupled; what was once lovely warmth felt like a suffocating, damp cloth on his spirit. The beauty of seeing Annatar’s soul transformed into horror. Was the darkness greater? He didn’t know, but the fact that there was any dancing light left at all made everything worse. Dry, wrenching sobs tore through him, the closest he could come to crying.

When Annatar had finished, he remained staring at Celebrimbor for a long moment. 

“How.” Celebrimbor had to take another ragged breath before he could continue. “How can you think that this is what I want? It’s not what you want.” He was talking about more than the rape that had just happened. 

Annatar still stared at him, his expression unreadable. He glanced down at his right hand, and anger clouded his face.

“You’re ruining everything!” Fitting, that Annatar would even steal his lines from him.

Annatar stormed over to one of the shelves. He returned with a knife and several bands of iron. He pulled Celebrimbor’s body back into the center of the table. Celebrimbor let out a hoarse scream again as his broken bones ground together and his raw back scraped along the table. Annatar bent the iron with his bare hands and drove it into the table, fastening Celebrimbor to the table again. 

“I don’t think you can run, but I need you to hold still for this.” Annatar picked up the knife and took a deep breath. “Now, Celebrimbor, where are the Three?”

As Annatar resumed flaying the skin off of his chest, Celebrimbor almost felt relieved.


End file.
